


This One's Mine

by dreamlittleyo



Series: Distress and Disarray [7]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, M/M, Mutual Pining, Rank Disparity, Unrequited Crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-28
Updated: 2018-07-28
Packaged: 2019-06-17 17:28:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15466431
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: In which Hamilton sneaks into a party because he belongs at his general's side.





	This One's Mine

"Please tell me this is a rescue and you've come to get me out of here." Washington's voice is quiet enough not to carry to the nearest cluster of government officials and diplomats, but even so there's an audible plea in the general's tone. "Is there an emergency? Something wrong with the ship?"

Hamilton cracks a smile despite himself. "No. And you probably shouldn't sound so hopeful at the prospect."

Washington's expression shifts minutely. To an untrained observer he would still look approachable, amiable, at ease. To Hamilton's more experienced eye, this is a variation on the poker face Washington uses against borderline-hostile starships. It comes out during delicate negotiations that have lasted long enough to strain his patience. There is a scowl in there somewhere—it's clear Washington is unhappy—but Hamilton doubts even the rest of the crew would be able to see it.

He always has watched his general more closely than he should.

"In that case, Colonel, what are you doing here?"

Hamilton quirks an eyebrow and hands Washington one of the glasses he's carried over from the refreshment kiosk. The other he lifts to his own mouth and takes a slow drink. He doesn't know how to interpret the way Washington's eyes track his movements. Amusement? Exasperation? Something else entirely?

He focuses on the sweetness of the drink—minimal alcohol, he checked—and on the stiffness of his dress uniform. Appropriate for this distinguished crowd, but far from comfortable.

Washington takes a sip of the drink Hamilton just handed him. When he lowers the glass, the scowl is more visible on his face.

"If you're not here to lead me from the mouth of Hell, then what purpose do you serve?"

"Moral support?" Hamilton shrugs one shoulder. "Angelica predicted you'd be masterminding an escape plan. We figured one party crasher sneaking in would be less conspicuous than the guest of honor sneaking out." 

Hamilton doesn't mention that his own calculations allowed for at least forty more minutes before Washington grew desperate enough to consider escape venues. Or that he would have found a way to sneak into this damnable party with or without Angelica's blessing. He knows how little his general cherishes large crowds, rigid etiquette, and being the center of attention. Hitting all three items on the list, this gala must be excruciating.

"So she sent you to dissuade me," Washington surmises. His expression shifts once more, back to the true neutral he was wearing when Hamilton first spotted him.

"Something like that." Hamilton settles into place at Washington's side, joining him in scanning the vast space. The high ceilings contain clusters of twinkling light fixtures, cloud-like amid sweeping arches and columns. There are hundreds of guests milling, mingling, standing in elegant groups along marble floors and tall balconies.

It's only a matter of time before some segment of the crowd drifts toward Washington and engages him in conversation. Hamilton has approached during what seems to be a fleeting lull, and his presence could well be the only thing holding back the next round of grateful admirers.

Saving an entire moon from annihilation is no small feat. Doing it singlehandedly, without one's crew or the help of functional comm systems… Hamilton is not entirely sure how Washington managed it. For that matter, he's still recovering from the heart-shattering panic of nearly losing his general along with the colony. If he had his way, he would drag Washington somewhere quiet _right now_. Somewhere green and steady, where he can pour them each a drink, and ask how the hell he did it. He would listen and absorb the smallest details, reassuring himself every moment that Washington is _alive_.

Then again, if Hamilton had his way, there are a great many things he would do, most of them ill-advised.

At least Washington seems to have forgiven him for the damn kiss. As promised, they haven't discussed it. But Hamilton was beginning to fear he would never be invited on an away mission again.

Hamilton is well aware it's a terrible idea when he offers, "If you really do want to get out of here…"

Silence greets him, Washington genuinely considering the possibility. They shouldn't leave. This entire gathering is dedicated to the general, an elaborate show of thanks. If Washington goes now, it won't matter how sneaky they try to be. His departure will be noticed, and their hosts will _not_ be pleased.

Hamilton will make it happen anyway if it's what Washington wants. This wouldn't be the first diplomatic incident he has caused.

"No," Washington at last concedes. "I can't risk giving offense. I'll stay."

"Okay." Hamilton nods. "But if it's all the same? I'd like to stay too."

Washington cracks the faintest smile. It's an eloquent expression. Private and fond and a little surprised. Washington _must_ know Hamilton hates these functions with equal ferocity. But if he understands the magnitude of the offer to stay, he does nothing to acknowledge it.

"Thank you, my boy," is all he says, then turns to greet a trio of guests who have finally moved to approach.

Hamilton sips his drink and remains—quiet, stubborn, devoted—at his general's side.

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts: Dedicate, Rescue, Variation


End file.
